Jastail swung to face her full on, savagely pointing a finger at her. “You are small-village wise, Anais, and small-village foolish. What gain is there for Quietgiven in killing or shackling a trader in human stock? Ending a steady supply from a consistent source?”
Wendra returned his glare. “And you are blinded by your own commerce, and your own need to liven a hardened soul.” She spat again, this time aiming for Jastail’s boots. “The Bar’dyn chased me out of my home at the very hour of my childbirth. Do you understand? They came especially for me. They won’t leave behind any connection to me; not even the trader who brought me to them.” She got to one knee. “Your trading days are over, unless you hold a threat that dissuades them.” She picked up the scrap of parchment. “And I have taken that advantage from you. When they come, you will join the boy and me.” She smiled, uncaring that her lips still bled. “If they don’t decide to simply kill you.”
Jastail stared at Wendra as she stood, shielding Penit behind her. His lip curled, quivering behind his finely trimmed beard, when the heavy sound of many feet announced others approaching the cabin. The emotion in Jastail’s face disappeared like smoke in the wind, and he calmly walked past Wendra and Penit toward the door. Her hands began to shake more violently. Jastail represented the worst of men, but her heart would not be still, for she realized what lay for her and Penit in the clearing beyond the door.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Public Discipline
Tahn slept fitfully, never descending into full sleep. Sutter dreamed, muttering and calling out, but always hugging close his sword, the handle locked into the hollow of his cheek like a child’s doll.
What did he see? The mists, what were they?
In the absence of sleep, Tahn restrung his bow, grateful for a simple task to perform. He had to blink back the images of attempting to draw an unstrung weapon against Sevilla. After he tested the string, he put aside his bow and took a stance to the side of the window, testing his strength. Over the rooftop of the next building he could see the tail of the serpent stars, dipping now below the horizon. Soon the dawn would come. But what beauty the night held for now: Distant, shining stars with their stories and unending surety; the sleeping world, the peace, the quiet. Perhaps the light of day would do better to remain on the other side of the world. Would time march on if the greater light did not rise to wake men and thrust them into keening for another meal or battle for dominion?
Tahn looked away at the serpent’s tail, six stars in a gentle curve that plunged into the land, hiding its head. Gone to its earth, Tahn thought. But then he imagined he could see the morn, a gentle warming of color at the farthest end of the land. “The song of the feathered,” Balatin used to say. Let it come.
The thought exhausted him; recent days had been long and hard.
“You’re up.” Gehone’s voice came softly, but startled Tahn nonetheless. “Let your friend sleep, and join me in the kitchen.” Tahn looked at Sutter and smiled wanly.
Bright lamps gave the kitchen a cheerful look. A brick oven warmed in one corner, fired with ash logs that lay in a wood scuttle beside it. A black skillet rested on an iron grate, and the fragrance of cooking apples filled the air. Gehone took a seat at the table and poured a mellow-colored cider. He pushed one mug at Tahn. “Goes good with warm apples,” he said, and drank.
Tahn sipped and rubbed his legs, which still tingled the way they did when he’d sat cross-legged too long.
Gehone, raising a finger the way Balatin often had, looked ready to speak. But as he opened his mouth, he seemed to think better of it, and smiled sympathetically with his eyes. He said only, “Apples first.” The leagueman went to the cupboard and took down two bowls. From the skillet he scooped two large portions of sliced apples warmed in what smelled like cow cream. Gehone returned and set the dishes on the table. Before Tahn could take his first bite, Gehone spooned a brown powder over the warm, sliced fruit. Tahn ate, disappearing into the taste of cinnamon and molasses. Gehone was right; apple cider was the perfect complement. They endfasted in silence, while outside the sun blued the sky.
With his last morsel, Gehone licked his lips and studied Tahn’s face. “I’m not an old man—still have use of my arms like a man twenty years younger—but I’m old enough to know striplings have no business in Stonemount. Old enough to have seen sensible boys cower at the sight of an empty window, or like to it. Now, you can keep it from me, lad, and I’m bound to respect your right to do it, but if there’s trouble, I need to know. The League needs to know.”
“The League,” Tahn parroted before he realized he’d said it.
“Yes, is the name sour on your tongue?”
Tahn returned Gehone’s careful stare. “I’ve no reason to trust or distrust you.”
“I see, other than me dragging you out of a rainy ditch and giving you a warm, dry bed,” Gehone said with a guileless smile.
So far. I’ve come so far. Maybe he can be trusted.
Tahn wanted desperately to tell Gehone everything, to unburden himself of it all. But behind his need to confess lurked his dreams of misdoubt and perhaps even of betrayal. Still, Tahn sensed he could trust Gehone, and decided to tell part. He related their run-in with Sevilla in Stonemount, withholding the part about the empty bow; of the library, but not of the sticks in his cloak; of Ariana and the great striped tents, but not of the Lul’Masi. And he told of Bar’dyn, but not Vendanj or Mira. Gehone sat, paying close attention. The smell of warm apples hung in the air. And when Tahn came to the last, Sutter appeared in the door, a weak smile on his lips.
“Smells good,” he said, the question clear in his voice.
“Have a seat, lad.” Gehone got up to the endfast fire. “We’ll all eat. And then you will prepare to leave. It won’t be good for you to be here when Commander Lethur arrives.”
The clatter of hooves interrupted them. Gehone rushed to the door and poked his head out. He looked only a moment, then ducked back inside, showing Tahn a troubled brow.
“To your room, quickly!” He gathered the bowls and stuffed them back in the cupboard unwashed. “Prepare yourselves to leave, then hide in the closet. Make no sound and stay away from the window.”
Gehone dashed past them and down the hall toward the front door. Sutter turned an ashen face to Tahn. Nothing needed to be said. The League of Civility had arrived, and by the sound of it, Gehone’s superior had not come alone.
They dressed quietly. Sutter buckled his sword and Tahn took up his bow. Near the window, Tahn paused and eased forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals. Several horses stood tethered to a hitching post, their flanks steaming in the crisp morning air. A thin coat of frost still clung to the ground where the sun had not yet touched, and above it all, the sky stretched in a perfect lake of unbroken blue. Then came the sound of many boots on the porch. Tahn crept forward, hoping to catch sight of the men.
Then he saw her.
Bound at the wrists, legs tied to the saddle straps, sat a woman, holding her chin at a defiant angle. A soiled dress gathered about her waist and thighs and exposed her calves, which bore a cake of mud from her horse’s hooves. Her cheeks hung slack as though from lack of sleep, but Tahn thought he knew the look: resignation. She might hold her head up, but her expression held none of the determination she affected.
A firm knock came at the front door and Tahn stepped back from the window. Sutter grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the closet. Disuse and the smell of moths clung to the tiny space. Tahn and Sutter quietly sat in the small enclosure as voices rose from below.
“We are all one,” a deep, clipped voice announced.
“And therein lies our strength.” Gehone’s words seemed a routine reply. The exchange came muffled but understandable through the floor.
“To protect civility in every form, the surest call,” the other finished on cue. A rattle of armor came next, and a series of cordial exchanges.
“You are early,” Gehone said.
�
�First Commander Cheltan thought it best that this business come to a quick conclusion.”
The other voice worried Tahn. The man spoke with eagerness, but slowly, as if he might rush toward the exacting of a long, painful punishment.
“What business is this?” Gehone answered. “I’ve had no reports. Is there news?”
“Indeed,” the Commander said in an odd tone. It reminded Tahn of a man with a surprise to share, but one he knew would displease Gehone. His speech carried a sense of delight.
“What news then?” Gehone asked.
The gleefulness disappeared from the other’s words. “A public discipline—”
“But we—”
“I have authority to exercise, Gehone. Make your complaint if you will, but even by courier bird it will arrive too late in this instance.” A shuffling of feet followed, and Tahn imagined the commander walking to the door to point to the woman he’d seen. Public discipline. He didn’t know what it meant, but it must surely have to do with the woman tied onto the horse.
“By every Sky and each man’s Will, Lethur, can you mean to do this?” The desperation in Gehone’s voice concerned Tahn more than the undercurrent of delight in the commander’s words.
“The shadow of civil disobedience grows longer, Gehone. It spawns insurgence in every nation. The League alone appears ready to stand against it.”
“By disciplining a woman in view of children? What is her crime?” Gehone’s fervor grew.
“Keep your place, man!” Lethur snapped. “We have all of us unpleasant tasks to perform. But civilization is stronger when corrupting elements are removed. And so much the better if the unenlightened can be made a lesson to others. Remember your oath.” Lethur’s voice softened. “Petition for change if you think it will advance civil thought, but remember this”—the Commander’s voice was one that would clearly brook no argument—“your right to make your own choices is not free rein; it comes with responsibility … and consequence. When this is understood, the choices you make will conform perfectly with His Leadership, Ascendant Staned.”
Gehone did not answer. Several moments passed before Lethur spoke. “Good. I’ve always admired your loyalty to the League, Gehone. It is a credit to you when you follow in mind though your heart somtimes clings to the misguided traditions of uncivil men. Old Guard, maybe.” Lethur laughed. “And perhaps the last of those. But you are a leader’s man, to be counted on to fulfill the oath by doing your duty.”
“When?” Gehone asked flatly.
“As soon as the town is fully awake,” Lethur replied. “I’ll expect you to be there. You will gather your four standards and meet us. Perhaps I will leave the discipline to you. It may give you sway here, cause reflection in those who do not fully understand the common interest.”
Gehone’s next words seemed to come through gritted teeth. “It’s not really discipline at all, is it, commander?”
“What do you mean to say, Gehone? Speak up. I won’t listen to mumbled words.”
“Discipline ought to mean a chance to change.” Gehone spoke with unfaltering passion.
“Ah, astute as ever, Gehone,” Commander Lethur replied. “But you miss the point, and I am glad to make it a source of instruction to you. You see, it is not really the woman we will be disciplining at all, is it? The spectacle of her disciplines a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand. This is the value our leadership sees in such a thing. She is a willful woman, convicted of harboring known opponents to the leadership’s stand against disobedience and the order. The world is changing, Gehone, the superstitions and falsehoods of our fathers no longer hold meaning for us. The Court of Judicature is beginning to see this, even though the Sheason Artixan still holds a seat there.” Lethur paused, seeming to consider. “Enough. Your three brothers must be brought. Every interest must be represented. Go, and we will make our preparations.” The commander paused again for a long moment. “I smell cream and apples, Gehone. What guests have you that you prepare your renowned confection?”
Tahn held his breath. Lethur seemed to know Gehone intimately. Would he detect the secret in their rescuer’s eyes?
Without a moment’s lapse, Gehone replied, “I take it more in solitary company these days, Lethur. I’ve few who warrant the effort.” Tahn heard the veiled insult clearly in the leagueman’s voice.
The sound of receding feet rose through the floorboards; the commander was apparently willing to leave the words uncontested. Then Lethur stopped, and spoke again. “You’re a good oath man, Gehone.” The footsteps resumed, and in a moment, the party of leaguemen exited, pulling shut the door behind them.
Tahn panted in the musty confines of the closet. He finally had to open the door to catch his breath. Crawling to the window, he peered over the sill. Eight men led the woman away up the street, townsfolk stopping to stare and point.
“Away from that window, you imbecile.” The command was soft but direct. “Hiding from the League makes you criminals to a mind like Lethur’s. I must go to the rest of my jurshah. All four branches of the League must be present at the common for the discipline. Tahn, your horse is in the stable. And an old mare is yours for the taking,” he said, nodding to Sutter. “But she’s not had a rider in several months. That is the last help I can be to you.”
“What are they going to do to the woman?” Tahn asked.
Gehone’s eyes were fiery, but he did not speak. Tahn watched a slow burn etch red lines in the leagueman’s face. Finally, he said, “It is none of your concern. Take advantage of Lethur’s preoccupation and leave town. You’ll have several hours if you go now. I don’t know what his next orders will be, so don’t travel directly upon the road. Keep a safe distance, whatever direction you go. If he spots you, you’ll be questioned, and Lethur will find any petty grievance to haul you before an authority if he thinks you’re hiding something from him. And you two don’t look to be good liars.”
“But we’ve done nothing,” Sutter said, seething.
“Relax your sword arm, boy. I am not your enemy. It won’t matter if you’ve done nothing. The principalities are often afraid to follow the dictates of their own laws when hearing an argument from a league commander in open court.” In a soft voice, Gehone added, “Lower councils and mayors are men and women with families, easily pressed.” Gehone clutched the brocade at his neck. “This wasn’t the course we set,” he muttered, and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Tahn called. “Thank you.”
Gehone stopped and turned back. Solemn eyes searched Tahn as he approached Gehone and raised a hand in gratitude. The leagueman looked down at Tahn’s fingers with an odd expression, as though the gesture were foreign to him. Then, with a growing recognition in his face, Gehone took Tahn’s hand in his own. Cupping his other palm under their handshake, as Balatin had taught him to do, Tahn secured his thanks. Gehone seemed surprised at the gesture.
“Go in safety, lads,” the leagueman said, a peaceful look smoothing his brow. He clapped Tahn’s shoulder and descended the stairs.
“Can we go now?” Sutter said with slight exasperation.
In answer, Tahn hurried to the kitchen and straight across to the rear door. Shadows still clung to the yard. Crouching low, he opened the door and scurried over to the stable. Sutter came close behind and, pushing the door inward, they crept inside.
Jole stood munching some hay. The mare Gehone mentioned had a deep sway in its back and long hair. Tahn smiled to think that the leagueman had kept the horse, which in any farming community would have been put down or released to wend its way to the end of its life. The hoary animal whickered under Tahn’s hands as he brushed its flank.
“We’ll get far with this one,” Sutter complained. “I’ll do better on foot.”
“Saddle her,” Tahn said, and set to doing the same with Jole. In moments they were ready. Gehone had prepared a bedroll and saddlebags filled with dried meat and flatbreads, two skins of water, and a fresh coil of rope. Tahn mounted Jole and rode to the stable door. Behind
him the sound of clattering hooves drew his attention. Sutter had one foot in a stirrup, and was hopping after his ornery mount. Wide-eyed, the mare sidled away and whickered in protest.
“No good even with older women, Nails?”
Sutter was too preoccupied to retaliate. Tahn chuckled softly as his friend and the old mare kicked up hay dust in a skitter of feet and hooves. When Sutter got mad enough, he yanked the horse close and leapt atop her. The old mare half reared twice, then settled with a stamping of her feet.
“All done playing?” Tahn teased.
Sutter’s glower turned to a smile of acknowledgment. “You just wait, Woodchuck. I’ve a long memory for insults.”
“Because there’s so much to love about you, no doubt,” Tahn countered.
They both laughed, and Tahn led them out of the stable. From behind him, Sutter rode up and leaned close. “This is the way the League went. Shouldn’t we find another way out of town?”
Tahn didn’t answer.
“Oh, no. You can’t be serious. What do you think you can do about it? It’s you and me against a whole band of them. This is not the way to make it to Recityv, Tahn. Vendanj wouldn’t approve.”
Tahn looked an answer at Sutter this time.
“You’re right. What do I care what the Sheason might do?”
Further on, pedestrians crowded the streets. Fine-chipped gravel had been laid down across the main avenues. Boys gathered in clumps, taking turns running and skidding through the loose rock. The sound of so many feet across the tiny stones reminded Tahn of the Huber at spring runoff, a low white roar.
Several streets up, they came to a broad avenue, nearly twice the width of the others. Instinctively, Tahn turned the corner and kept close to one side. A hundred strides on, a crowd had gathered. High in Jole’s saddle, Tahn saw past them to almost three dozen leaguemen in their rich, russet cloaks preparing some kind of structure at the midpoint of the broad central concourse. Tahn could see the woman still sitting on her horse, the same resignation weighing down her pliant features.
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